First Kill
by EvershiningHope
Summary: "Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days." 12 year old Dean Winchester has been thrust the responsibility of caring for his younger brother Sam, protecting him from the truth, and keeping him out of trouble. But who does he turn to when his father goes missing? Who is left to help the Winchester boys through their childhood?


Dean lay in bed, the sheets pulled up to his chin, watching his little brother's chest rise and fall in a regular rhythm. His fringe had fallen over his eyes. He rolled over to look at the clock on the motel bedside table: 4.56am. He sighed and tried to get back to sleep, but the thoughts of his father's whereabouts had been plaguing his mind all night. He got up to make himself a mug of tea from the grimy, rusted kettle that sat in the corner of the kitchenette. After placing the mug on the arm of a squashy sofa chair, he sank into it, watching the sun rise above the horizon.

After the clock ticked over to 6:30am, Sammy began to stir. There was no point in rushing him; there was nowhere to be, nothing to do, no one to meet. This morning marked the third day that Dad had been away; for Sam and Dean, this was totally normal. Sometimes, he'd be gone for a week before the boys would see him again. Dean turned to face his brother's bed as he sat up and rubbed his big hazel eyes.

"Morning, Sammy." Dean said to his sleepy looking brother. "Have a good rest?" He already knew the answer to this. Dean himself hadn't slept all night due to the constant moans and wriggling coming from his brother's bed; those only happened when he was having a nightmare.

"Yeah, I suppose." said Sam, his voice husky from sleep. "What's for breakfast?"

"Same as usual; Lucky Charms and OJ." He got up from the armchair and pulled the bowls from the sink that they had used the previous morning. Soggy bits of cereal and a film of milk remained in the bottom of each. Giving them a quick rinse and drying them with a crusty tea towel, Dean set the bowls on the counter top. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, and shook the box of Lucky Charms; there were only a few left at the bottom of the packet. He sighed, and passed the box to Sam.

"Here. Enjoy them." Dean sculled his glass of orange juice and dumped the empty glass in the sink. Last night's cutlery clattered against it. He lifted the lid of the laptop that Dad had left for them; he checked for any news of further disappearances in Minnesota: Nothing. The case that he was working concerned a suspected vampire coven, they had been tracking them for a few weeks now, and they had finally settled. The screen of Dean's cell phone lit up, flashing persistently. He snatched it up, knowing that it would be correspondence from Dad.

"on way home. see you in a few hours. dad"

His messages were always short and to the point, just like he was in real life: no messing around, straight down to business. No time for endearments, or for hugs and kisses. Dean looked over his shoulder to Sam. "Dad's on his way home." Sam looked up, his expression indifferent.

"Ok. Great." He reengaged with his bowl of cereal. Dean had a much stronger bond with his father than Sam did. Sam hadn't been around before he had turned to hunting. After their mother had died, he sought revenge; Revenge on all things supernatural, but most of all, on the thing that had killed her. Only Dean remembered his father before his hunting instincts dictated his every move. The only father Sam knew was the secretive, unaffectionate man who toted them around the country, never staying in the same spot for more than a week for reasons unknown to him. Dean knew, however, that it was better that way. That it was better that he didn't know the reason for the revolver kept beneath his pillow. The reason that Dean dead bolted the doors shut every night. The reason for his nightmares.

Sam's spoon clattered as he dropped it and hit the side of the bowl. He pushed in his chair, carefully, deliberately, and pulled the binds up to see the weather conditions outside. Dean raised his eyebrows, and went back to searching the net. As he went to close the window, a flickering pop-up emerged in the center of the screen: _"Busty Asian Beauties, hot singles in your area waiting for YOU!"_ He studied the round breasts of the girls featured in the advertisement. It was amateur photography; he could see the reflection of the flashbulb on the shiny, oiled skin of the women's chests. Suddenly, Sam popped up behind him.

"Don't let Dad catch you looking at those. He wouldn't be too happy. Remember what happened last time?" Dean remembered too well. The last time he had clicked onto one of those images, he had found some videos and had decided to watch them. After a long, grueling lecture from Dad, he had resolved never to try that stunt again. He closed the window, and to prove his point to Sam, he shut the lid of the laptop.

The sun had hit its peak in the sky, and was on its decent back towards the horizon. Still no Dad. Dean tried to make up excuses as to why he hadn't made it back yet; silly things, trivial things, like traffic, or a speeding ticket, had caused a delay. When the sun sank out of vision, and the boys crawled into bed, Dean was worried. He messaged Dad again, three times, but still nothing. He switched off the lamp that sat next to the creaky motel bed, and lay, still, silent, awake.


End file.
